Lost and Found (Parentlock)
by MadamMuffins
Summary: When Hamish is kidnapped by old foe, Moriarty, Sherlock dives into the investigation – infatuated with nothing but finding his lost son. Years later, just as Sherlock and John start to lose hope, a young man with astonishing cheekbones and familiar eyes shows up at 221B Baker Street. All seems perfect, but what if it's all a part of a bigger picture?


**Summary:** There are two people in Sherlock's life that he would jump in front of a bullet for: John and Hamish. When Hamish is kidnapped by old foe, Sherlock dives into the investigation – infatuated with nothing but finding his lost son. Years later, just as Sherlock and John start to lose hope, a young man with astonishing cheekbones and familiar eyes shows up at 221B Baker Street.

**Pairing(s): **Johnlock.

"John, put Hamish to bed _please,_" Sherlock drawls, rubbing his temples out of sheer frustration. He had made the biggest error in his life on giving his five year old son sugary foods right before he was due to bed. Sometimes, for the most intelligent mind in London, he can have his idiotic moments.

"Can't you do it?" he replies from the kitchen, presumably making some tea.

"No. He's driving me mad," Sherlock growls. It's suddenly silent. Sherlock feels a pang of guilt go through him, he hadn't meant for Hamish to hear that. Then again, what did he expect? The boy was right beside him the whole time. John sighs, but scoops up the hyper child into his arms anyway. On the way out of the living room, both Hamish and John can hear Sherlock sigh in relief.

"Did I do something wrong?" the five year olds lip quivers.

"Don't be silly, you've done nothing wrong," John comforts him, pulling back the duvet on Hamish's bed and laying the small boy down into it. The boy just stares up at his Dad with his big blue saucers. _Those eyes are going to cause people a lot of heartache_, John thinks fondly.

"Father doesn't like me very much, does he?" he asks, his eyes watering up. John sits on the edge of the small bed, moving his son's dark hair from his eyes.

"Your Father could never dislike you, Hamish. That's just insane."

Hamish, seemingly content with that answer, snuggles further down into the duvet – tucking it up beneath his chin in a way John always found completely adorable. He gives his son a hug, does the mandatory tucking in and places a kiss on his forehead before turning off the light and leaving the room, the door slightly ajar.

"Would it kill you," John starts while walking into the living room once more, "to act even remotely fatherly to Hamish?"

Sherlock doesn't respond; he just stares intently at his laptop screen, his long fingers pressed together in front of his mouth.

"You know, it's times like this that I don't even think you _want _to be a father," John preservers, hoping to hit a nerve somewhere.

"Mind palace, John," he says in a low voice as he remains fixated on the laptop screen.

"We have a _child _now, Sherlock. You don't have time to escape to your _mind palace_ every time you feel the need to take a break from fatherly duties. I don't know if you knew this, but this particular job doesn't come with a break. It's for life," John takes a deep breath after his rant and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at his husband to see if he's fazed him in anyway. What wishful thinking.

"I am on the verge of cracking this case," he responds, refusing to meet John's intense glare.

"You are on the verge of cracking Hamish. Now get off that computer and go into Hamish and apologise for being an ass." John firmly points his index finger in the general direction of Hamish's room. With a sigh, Sherlock averts his gaze over to his husband.

"I do not believe I've done anything wrong here," he grumbles.

"Your son thinks you don't like him. How is that not wrong?"

Sending Sherlock another death glare, he disappears back into the kitchen to continue whatever he was doing before Sherlock had interrupted him. Sherlock feels that shock of guilt ripple through him once again. Pursing his lips, Sherlock stands and makes his way into his sons room.

"Hamish?" he calls out softly, gently easing the door open. The small bundle in the bed doesn't move. "Son?" Sherlock says, a little louder this time as he sits on the bedside.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier, you know I don't mean it. Don't tell Daddy this, but sometimes your Father can be an idiot," he chuckles fondly, "what I'm trying to say, Hamish, is that I love you."

Those words tasted on his tongue. Unnatural, almost. Sherlock goes to pat what he thinks is the boy's shoulder. But he is met with air.

"Hamish?" Sherlock says, suddenly frantic. He pulls the duvet away in great haste. Lying there is not his son, rather a stack of pillows. Sherlock's heart rate picks up, but he forces himself to stay calm.

"John!" he practically screams. He wouldn't be surprised if Mrs. Hudson had heard him.

"What?" John replies, obviously aggravated at being interrupted once more. Sherlock doesn't respond, rather he investigates the area. Leaning over the bed and pushing the window open. There are no signs for anything. Something caught in the window catches his attention. With a steady hand Sherlock snatches the flimsy piece of paper before the wind can claim it as its' own. Sherlock unfolds it, hardly hearing John come into the room behind him.

WHERE IS YOUR SON, HOLMES?

Unable to keep up the calm façade, Sherlock turns to John – his whole body shaking. John is looking from the empty bed to Sherlock to the window, all in frantic eye sweeping motions. Without a word, Sherlock hands him the piece of paper.

"I… I don't know. I don't know where he is."

For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have an answer.

Jim Moriarty sat across the room, peering at the child who is still unconscious in front of him. On first laying eyes on the boy, he was utterly shocked at the resemblance between Holmes and his son. Even at this young age, Hamish has sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. He was shocked when the young boy had woken up and _glared _at Moriarty with Sherlock's eyes. They're like mirrors to one another.

Far better for his plan than Moriarty could have ever hoped.

After a few moments, the child begins to rouse from his unnatural sleep. After blinking a few times, he slowly rises and checks his surroundings – eyes immediately glued to the man sitting in front of him.

"Hello Hamish," he says pleasantly. The child only glares at him.

"Who're you?"

"Jim," he replies with a smile, "Jim Moriarty. I'm a… old friend of your parents."

Hamish doesn't seem convinced in the slightest. "Why haven't they mentioned you?"

"Well, because I haven't seen them in a long time. Adults can be very silly," he grins. Hamish relaxes a little bit.

"Can you take me home?" he asks, pulling his knees up to rest his chin on them. Moriarty smiles sadly and looks down at his hands.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that… Your Father wants me to look after you from now on," he informed the child, his voice full of regret.

"Why?" Hamish's lower lip quivers.

Moriarty shrugs, trying to look sad for the boy – while he's completely thrilled. The child is like putty in his hands, his to mold whatever way he chooses.

"He doesn't want you anymore."

"If you say _not my division _one more time, Lestrade, I will not hesitate to ram my fist down your throat and rip out your trachea," Sherlock threatens, his teeth clenched together.

Lestrade looks taken aback for a moment, but quickly regains his composure. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but my division is in homicide. Not missing persons. I can't take you as a special case, you're just going to have to report it just like every other civilian in this city."

Sherlock slams his palms down on Lestrade's desk, making all its contents quiver. Sherlock leans over, dangerously close to Lestrade's face.

"This is my _son_ we're talking about here. Not just some civilian. You will help me or may god help you," he hisses. The door is opened and Sherlock springs back to act as normal as possible. John stands beside Sherlock now, looking a complete mess – though Sherlock doesn't care to point this out.

"We'll get right on it, Holmes," Lestrade responds, picking up his phone and quickly diving into conversation. John, noticing how frightened Sherlock actually is behind his calm mask, grasps his hand firmly within his own.

Sherlock had immediately undertaken his own investigation around the area to no avail. The path was clear; there was nothing to deduct anything from. Sherlock had never felt so helpless. So John had called the police and reported a missing person.

But seeing as Hamish has only been missing for a maximum of twelve hours, the police had refused to file it. So now they're here, begging for help from Lestrade.

Sherlock could almost hear Anderson sniggering at the very thought. Finally, Lestrade hangs up and looks at the two anxious men in front of him.

"I can't do anything other than make a note of it. In another twelve hours we'll be able to take course of action," he informs them, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Oh for God's sake," John mutters, running a hand over his face.

"Another twelve hours. Stupid, Lestrade! Hamish could be dead by then!" Sherlock fumes. John's stomach drops, of course that could have always been a possibility but now hearing it out in the open… it made everything so much more worse, much more _real._ It's only now that John realizes that Sherlock is still going off on a tangent, getting very red in the face.

John grips his arm and begins to pull him out of the room. He throws a thanks over his shoulder to Lestrade.

"Calm down, Sherlock. _Calm down,_" he tries to sooth. At least he's stopped yelling at this point. But by the looks of things, everyone in the office overheard what had happened in the office. Everyone was staring at the crazed Sherlock, being escorted out of the building by John. They had never seen Sherlock that angry before. Donovan wanders in, completely oblivious to what has just happened.

"What happened?" she asks Anderson rather loudly.

"Their kid went missing. My guess is the kid ran off, imagine living with Sherlock. Wouldn't blame him."

John stiffens and abandons Sherlock's arm, storming back into the middle of the office.

His palm shoots out to nail Anderson right in the nose. He feels the crack of bone and everyone else surely hears it. Anderson falls back into the arms of one of his colleagues.

"Shut up, Anderson," John growls, stalking back to his husband and leaving the building with his head held high. Once on the street, Sherlock takes John's face in his hands and places his lips firmly on his. A few moments later, he pulls back and stares down at the smaller man with determination in his eyes.

"Let's go find our son."

_**So, how was it? Terrible? Decent? Actually okay? I literally just found out about Parent!lock today and became completely infatuated with it. Especially because older Hamish is usually portrayed by Colin Morgan (I shall not lie when I say I'm infatuated with him more than parent!lock) **_

_**I hope you enjoyed and if feedback is possible, I'll continue a lot quicker.**_

_**Thank you for reading.**_


End file.
